


The fault of our figure 8

by TheonlyDan



Category: Sharp Objects (TV)
Genre: Alternate/Missing Scene, Drugged Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Light Bondage, NSFW, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: “You should always trust me.” Her little sister said in a low, comically solemn voice, “There’s nothing in that you don’t like.”Camille gulped at the challenge. She could tell poison from medicine, but never danger from pleasure.Because they were inseparable, just like the illness festering in their blood.OrWhat ensued after the final episode.
Relationships: Amma Crellin/Camille Preaker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	The fault of our figure 8

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the TV version of Sharp Objects. I do not own the characters, and the geniuses belong to Gillian Flynn and all the works in this fandom that continues to inspire!

_Don’t tell Mama._

It echoed the stillness until Camille remembered she needed to breathe; when she did, the ragged breaths broke the silence.

But it was no less unbearable.

Amma never looked this innocent. Panic and surprise looked pretty on her. Nothing could make her not pretty; lies added color to Amma’s cheeks while betrayal cast a halo of youth on her face.

Now Camille confirmed what was beneath that beautiful surface represented everything opposite.

“Are you mad?”

_I killed little girls. Are you mad?_

Her sister approached like a phantom, bottom lip wet and swollen after she carelessly took them in her pearl-white teeth.

The tooth fell from Camille’s frigid finger. She lost her balance when Amma crouched down and invaded her personal space, the motion so violent that the wind was knocked from her lungs, then the scent of her younger sister enveloped her like a sweet dream gone wrong. Like she was trapped on a spider’s web.

For a split second she thought she saw Marian on Amma’s face. Camille jerked away, landing harshly on the floor. Delayed pain shot up from her hips. Amma cocked her head as if she couldn’t understand why Camille was desperate to put distance between them.

“You’ve been drinking.”

The older woman blinked as the younger crawled towards her, movements languid. From the rim of her vision, Camille saw the world fold like she was living on a burning page of a gothic novel.

She scurried onto her feet, black stars dancing in front of her eyes. Weird twinges appeared when she stared down at her younger sister. Her skin was unblemished in the perfect shade of ivory.

_Naked woman. Shed. Bondage._

Like she knew what was on her mind, Amma lifted her head just in time, doe-eyed to meet Camille’s gaze; the dark glint in her eyes flickered in a wrong way, _angelic_.

“Why?”

Her voice was dry, distorted and weak. It was disturbing how Amma always seemed to gain the upper-hand, but as long as she kept the game fresh and challenging, her younger sister would play.

“Why I killed these girls?” Amma stood lethargically. _She was bored again._ Camille counted her own heartbeats; each _thud_ reminded her she was still alive. Amma spoke again (she was already so tall, almost at the same height as Camille), more like whispering, “Are you scared, sis?”

“Of what?”

The hell-blaze caught Amma’s gray-blue eyes. Her younger sister smirked, nowhere near satisfied. Amma loved Camille more at moments like this when she was hers: more than friends, more than sister, more than family.

It was nauseating—the heat thrumming off of their bodies, the sweet floral smell of her sister, the same queasiness that felt different every time—but Camille liked it.

She tasted iron and salt when Amma reached for her cheek, too gentle like she was caressing an eggshell. Amma was brutal with everything else just like teenagers. Selfishly careless. And so you won their affection by not paying attention.

“I wish I can get inside your head,” The hair on the back of her neck stood as Amma stared into her eyes, rasping out those words in dead earnest, “I bet the inside is just as beautiful.”

As to what? The scars on her body?

DIRT. HURT. CLOSER.

Her whole body pulsed on cue. Blood rushed to places she was ashamed of.

FUCKED-UP. CUNT. FORNICATE.

Camille was smarter than this but her body, her _psyche_ , reacted on its own. She exhaled shakily, not bothering to hide the vodka in her breath.

Amma purred, taking in her momentary surrender. She was almost sure Amma liked the taste of her now in their proximity. She fed on Camille’s secrets.

Camille shut her eyes as if it would block away the unwanted desires.

_What have I done?_

“C’mon, Mille, let’s do this one last time.”

_How did I let it happen?_

In the darkness, a blissful kiss landed on her naked throat. A tremble and a quake later, Camille’s self-destructive thoughts melted away. _Always._ Amma cooed and ran her fingers through Camille’s hair the way she liked, the gesture soothing and calculated.

“I’ll go to the cops only if you drink with me.”

Camille snapped her eyes open but to her disappointment, Amma’s face was again unreadable except for a shark-like grin that painted her features mischievous and dangerous. Camille was hoping to find anything that would give her away, but Amma was determined.

When she looked into the eyes of her younger sister, all she could see was the reflection of herself. Her atrocities. Her sins.

She pushed Amma away while stumbling backward. Amma giggled (the sound refreshing and hypnotic), eyes crescent with laughter and pure joy. _This was how to please a devil._ Then she pulled Camille back with a tug on her wrist, playful with inescapable force. Camille’s breath caught in her throat when Amma pecked on her lips and murmured against it.

“Say yes, Camille. Please. I promise I’ll be a good girl…”

Amma’s lips were soft like white rose petals tainted with blood, and they were flaming. Every time she kissed her, Camille burned because she was another foot closer to hell. She swallowed at the prelude of a losing game, and nodded tersely while shoving her sister away. The feeling of disorientation was stronger than the flavor of vodka, and more addictive than any substance that could make her forget.

Amma wasn’t angry nor surprised at her sister’s abruptness. How could she when Camille was going to indulge her sickness, _again_?

Sickness ran in their blood. _If you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them._ Camille let her. She always did.

Her head spun after she finished her bottle of “Evian” too swiftly. Amma watched her with knowing eyes, the look that didn’t belong to a child; when Amma handed her a mini glass of brownish liquor, Camille took a quick sip. _Might as well get this over with._

She frowned. Her tongue may be corroded by imprudent alcohol intake but her mind was not-numb enough to tell something was in the whiskey.

“What’s the matter?”

In her sing-song voice, Amma batted her eye-lashes and smirked.

“I trusted you, Amma. And this is how you repay me? By spiking my drink?”

“You should always trust me.” Her little sister said in a low, comically solemn voice, “There’s nothing in that you don’t like.”

Camille gulped at the challenge. She could tell poison from medicine, but never danger from pleasure.

Because they were inseparable, just like the illness festering in their blood.

_If I finish this, you will turn yourself in. Promise?_

_I will._

Camille downed the drink.

MILK.

***

“What are you doing…Amma…”

Words floated in her head that felt too heavy for her body. The room’s light was insufficient because all she could focus on was Amma’s smaller frame hovering above her. Camille squirmed in her black bra and underwear. The rope cut into her wrist and the knots were too tight, but too much contacts were never enough.

_Touches spoiled a child…_

Camille had never really grown up; she weaned on poison and she considered harm better than comfort. She couldn’t quite make a grasp on reality even before her hands got tied to the bedpost. Before her clothes were peeled off and were scattered on the floor under the coercion.

“Tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Amma whispered and her breath tickled Camille’s ear, raising involuntary goosebumps over her body; it was a threat more than a promise. Camille whimpered when Amma stopped prepping open-mouth kisses down the slope of her neck because all of her scars ached so good.

“You’re too good to be true.” Amma was buzzing with excitement and Camille could tell she meant it. Her fingers ghosted on Camille’s breast then she twisted her nipple tentatively. All of Amma’s explorations were juvenile but it didn’t matter because the world was young and evil was old. Old as that roofless dollhouse looming at the corner of her room. A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye as she screwed her eyes shut. Camille hissed as lightning exploded from the pad of Amma’s fingertips, and she turned her head sideways so she wouldn’t face their truth.

SISTER-FUCKER.

“You’re so good to me. I want to take care of you but you have to give me what I need.”

The pit of Camille’s stomach dropped and coiled when the human body of warmth moved downward and no, she couldn’t remember how the tides of her want attacked, her underwear now damp and clogging and too tight; underneath, her blood rushed to accumulate a steady pulse Amma would know.

Amma would take care of her.

_Comfort me…kiss me…kill me._

“Please…”

Camille’s voice was unrecognizable. Amma looked up to the source of the voice and smiled. Her older sister was so beautiful like a goddess from hell…she was her Persephone and Amma was Hades.

“Shush.”

This time she dared to slip her hand under the damp fabric instead of blindly rubbing Camille’s mound until she came. This time, Amma was going to prove how much she honored a promise and how she loved her sister.

“Amma! Oh…”

Two fingers entered her without preamble and it stung at first, but Camille buckled for more. Amma rubbed her with a thumb before she decided she had to _take_. Fire and acid alternated when her younger sister nipped clit, fingers stretching and exploring her velvety walls. Camille screamed, then she couldn’t when Amma climbed up to silence her wail. She tasted like her own treacherous arousal.

“I never wanted to hurt anybody. I want to be loved so bad. I wanted to be saved.”

 _Tragic people get tragic rewards._ Amma muttered incoherently, her fingers pumping in and out of Camille’s wetness. It was a matter of time because she was already too close.

“This is…wrong, Amma.”

If Amma was addicted to madness, Camille had succumbed to resistance. It took so much effort to say those words because Camille was entranced by the droplet of sweat glistening on Amma’s forehead. Her little sister blurred into a silhouette except for the shadows that shaped her face monstrously sharp, the smile that was sickly sweet, and glassy look that was resolute.

Their bodies hummed to the song of Sirens.

“You didn’t say stop.”

 _You never said stop._ Camille mewled, defeated as she threw herself into the waves and it crashed down, intense and psychotic but so good. _Tragic people’s tragic rewards._

It felt better than strangling lives or pulling teeth out now that she had her half-sister’s core convulsing around her digits. Maybe she had no tomorrow, and maybe this was enough.

Camille closed her eyes and wetted her own dry lips, panting in a daze. _Kill me now, I don’t care anymore._

A hand, still warm and soaked with her juices came up to encircle her neck; another, clammy but drier, joined forces until Camille felt her windpipe being restricted.

“Don’t be silly, how could I ever kill you? You are all I have left.”

_You’re all I need._

With Camille’s heartbeat pulsating beneath her fingertips, Amma had her hands around her as she kissed her properly as a lover would.

Sickness was in their blood; it kept running when they were one.

_Give me your guilt and regret, then I’ll love you, sister._

**Author's Note:**

> Oooof...so this is my first try in this fandom. I hope you enjoy!  
> (Amma was one of the most charismatic, manipulative psychopaths I've fallen in love with. The acting of Amy Adams also blew me away. The show was disturbingly superb.)


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